Just one moment

by Poppy J. Anderson

“What, you don’t enjoy being here?” James asked jokingly. “I thought we could go play tennis early tomorrow morning. You and Scott against your old man.”

  “You always let us win at tennis,” Hamilton scolded him. Much to James’s delight, when it came to sports, the boy had inherited his parents’ ambition.

  “That’s not true at all,” James replied softly. “You and your brother are far too good for me to let you win.”

  Unfortunately, Hamilton wasn’t easily distracted, and he returned to his initial question. “If this is Mom’s weekend, I don’t understand why we’re here.”

  “Oh, you know …” James shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “Your mom had an appointment, pal, and she couldn’t find a babysitter.”

  “An appointment?”

  “Mm-hm.” James tried to sound cheerful. “You know your mom’s quite busy with all her charity stuff. But that’s fine with me. We haven’t gotten to play tennis in a long time.”

  “Dad,” his oldest replied gravely, “I’m not a baby anymore. Mom has a date, right? She went out with a man.”

  James sighed and wrinkled his nose. “How do you know what a date is, huh?” he asked, forcing himself to sound calm.

  “TV,” Hamilton replied dully.

  If James hadn’t felt so horrible about the hopelessly muddled situation, he’d probably have burst into laughter at his son’s grave reply. Instead, he frantically wondered how to explain to Hamilton that his mom had every right to date as much and as often as she pleased—no matter how painful that was for him.

  “Well, I think we should be happy for your mom if she gets to spend a nice evening out, pal. We want your mom to be happy, don’t we?”

  “But I don’t want her to meet another man!” Hamilton protested passionately.

  James’s shoulders sagged. “Hamilton—”

  “Can’t you tell her not to date?” his son pleaded, sounding scared.

  James twisted his lips into a semblance of a smile. “No, I can’t do that, buddy. Your mom is a grown-up, and she wouldn’t appreciate it if I started telling her what she can and can’t do.”

  Hamilton took a hasty breath. “Can’t you go on a date with her then?” he suggested excitedly.

  James’s answer was very deliberate and composed. “Your mom and I got a divorce. You know that. It means we’re both allowed to go on dates with other people, Hamilton. It’s absolutely fine for your mom to go out with other men.”

  Liar.

  “But I don’t want another dad,” Hamilton blurted out. “I don’t want that!”

  James turned toward his son and put a soothing hand on the small blond head. “Listen to me, Hamilton,” he said firmly. “You, Scott, your mom, and I—we’re a family, and we’ll always be a family. You don’t need to worry about me disappearing, or not being here for you anymore. Mom and I both love you and your brother more than anything else in the world, and we’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “But if Mom marries another man, he’ll live in our house!” Hamilton’s anxiety was bordering on panic. “I don’t want another man to move in with us. I don’t want to call him Dad! You’re my dad!”

  “Hamilton.” James sighed and pulled his son closer. “You shouldn’t worry about things like that. Of course I’m your dad, and I always will be. Just because your mom went out with someone else, that doesn’t change the fact that you and Scott are my sons.”

  Hamilton was hiccupping with panic. “Jeremy Myers’s parents got a divorce, too. Now his mom has a new husband, and she and Jeremy moved in with him. Jeremy doesn’t see his dad anymore and has to call the other man Dad. I don’t want to do that!”

  James’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of his son’s head. “I promise you that such a thing will never happen to us. Neither Mom nor I want anything to change for you. We’re your parents, Hamilton. We may be divorced and not live together anymore, but we’re still a family.”

  For a few moments, Hamilton didn’t say anything. Then, in an uncharacteristically defiant voice, he declared, “Mom shouldn’t go on dates with other men. It’s … It’s mean!”

  “You shouldn’t say that,” James scolded his devastated son. “Your mom has never done anything mean.”

  “But she hurt you, Dad,” Hamilton pointed out astutely.

  Jesus, when had he started to discuss his failed marriage with his nine-year-old?

  “Your mom is not responsible for our divorce, Hamilton,” James explained in a hoarse voice.

  “But she hurt you!”

  James shook his head. “I was the one who hurt your mother. I hurt her badly. I made a huge mistake, and your mom is still very sad about that, Hamilton. She didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

  “Can’t you tell her you’re sorry?” his son suggested pragmatically.

  James’s smile was weak as he explained, “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

  Though his oldest was trying his best to keep his emotions to himself, his hiccupping voice was a clear indication that he was close to bursting into tears. “I don’t want her to love another man, Dad. I want her to love you again!”

  James’s eyes were stinging now as well. Much like his son, he wanted Barbara to forgive him and love him again, too. There was nothing in the world he wished for more passionately, but he was scared that particular ship had sailed long ago.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to cheer up his son by tousling his blond hair. “Who says Mom and I no longer love each other? We have the greatest kids in the world, and we made them together. For that alone, we’ll always love each other.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Before Hamilton could continue asking difficult questions, James pulled the duvet up to cover both of them and rested his chin on his son’s head. “And now let’s try to sleep,” he mumbled with forced cheerfulness. “I want to beat you and your brother at tennis in the morning.”

  “You can try,” his son replied, then gave a great big yawn.

  ***

  When James had dropped off his sons, his former mother-in-law had invited him to join her and the rest of the family for cake in the beautiful garden of the Ashcroft mansion, but James had declined. Though he still got along well with her, and even with Patrick and Stuart, the sheer fact that three hours earlier, Barbara had sent him a text asking him to bring Hamilton and Scott to her mother’s house because she wasn’t home, had upset him greatly. It had also upset his stomach, and he couldn’t have played tea party with the Ashcrofts right then.

  If she wasn’t home, that could only mean that she hadn’t come home after her date last night. And that meant …

  He gripped the handle of the shopping cart, which he was pushing listlessly through the virtually empty aisles of the grocery store. It was probably only lonely men in their mid-thirties who ended up at the only open store in the county on a Sunday afternoon to stock up on toothpaste, detergent, and fabric softener.

  In fact, his trip to the grocery store fit the stereotype of the sad divorcé. The man whose entire life revolved around his children, who spent every other weekend with him, while he still yearned for his ex-wife, who was well on her way to leaving the past behind for good.

  Despondent, James stopped before a shelf stacked high with cat food. With a lopsided, self-deprecating smile, he wondered how much longer it would be before he drove to the nearest animal shelter and adopted a cat for some company during his evenings on the couch. He’d actually prefer a dog, but that was out of the question at the moment, considering the workload he took upon himself to avoid thinking and, thus, becoming despondent—like now. Besides, who would look after the animal when James had to go on yet another business trip?

  Speaking of business trips …

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared indecisively at the screen.

  Of course, it wasn’t necessary to call Barbara today just to inform her that he’d gotten an email that morning a
bout attending a convention in two weeks, so he’d miss Scott’s next soccer tournament. He could have sent her a text, or called her in a few days. But since it was killing him not to know whether she really hadn’t come home the night before …

  He sighed and dialed her number.

  He felt like the most pathetic idiot in the world.

  It took what felt like an eternity for Barbara to finally pick up. “James … what is it?” she asked in a harried voice.

  At least she’d taken the call, he told himself, while his eyes roamed the endless variety of cat food. “Hi, yes … well, I-I just wanted to let you know I-I dropped the boys off at your mom’s.” He was stammering like a teenager in sex ed class. “They were both excited because there was strawberry pie. You know Scott loves strawberries. And Hamilton loves any kind of pie. So the two of them are—”

  “James,” his ex-wife groaned into the phone, “excuse me, but what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is everything okay with the boys?”

  “Of course, everything’s okay. They’re fine,” he promised, pressing a hand to his forehead. He barely knew himself anymore. He’d never had any problem talking to Barbara before. But then, at some point, they’d stopped talking to each other—about the important things. That had been the beginning of the whole ordeal.

  “Okay, then why did you call to tell me about my mom’s strawberry pie?” She sounded overwrought, and then she started swearing under her breath. “Ouch!”

  “Ouch?” James pressed his ear to the phone and heard with mounting confusion how much noise there was in the background on her end. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course, I’m okay,” she snapped. “I just got a paper cut, and it stings like a bitch.”

  He almost smiled. It was just so good to hear her voice.

  The noise in the background increased, and he frowned. “Where are you, anyway?”

  “Where am I?” Barbara sounded anything but thrilled. “I’ve spent the entire morning in the Bridgeport Women’s Association clubhouse taking inventory of the used clothing. I was just sent off to deal with paperwork a minute ago.”

  Surprised, he tilted his head back. “But … But it’s Sunday.”

  “A lovely Sunday, and I’m spending it burrowing through old socks and dusty donation receipts while my mom apparently makes a bunch of strawberry pies.” She sighed. “I can think of better ways to spend a Sunday.”

  James didn’t know what to think about the fact that Barbara was complaining to him about her day, but he knew it was a good thing that she was speaking to him at all—and he was glad she was busy with the Bridgeport Ladies’ Club or whatever it was called, and not with another man.

  He cleared his throat and said casually, “I didn’t think you’d get up so early for work after a night out.”

  There was silence on the line for a moment.

  James waited with bated breath for Barbara’s reply. It came as an irritable-sounding question: “Do you want to know how my date went?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “Good!” Her voice trembled. “It’s none of your business, and you know that.” He wanted to say something, but Barbara didn’t give him a chance to get out a peep. “If that’s your newest thing, spying on me by calling me under a flimsy pretext, just to sound me out—”

  “I’m not spying on you, goddamnit,” he interrupted, sticking out his chin as he pushed the shopping cart away from the cat food. “Can’t I just ask you how a night out went?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’m curious,” he replied honestly.

  “But you’re not supposed to be curious, James! If I went out with a hundred different men, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

  He balled his right hand into a fist. “Is this your payback for the incident at the fucking gala? Are you trying to hurt me on purpose?”

  “You know what?” she hissed at him. “I don’t care what you do or with whom! And if you think you have to flaunt your affair by taking your lover to a charity gala—”

  “I did not take her to the gala!” he barked into the phone. “Are you deaf? I hadn’t seen the woman in more than two years! It was nothing but a stupid coincidence that she was seated at the same table!” By now, he’d lost the last shred of his composure, and he didn’t care who overheard him yelling into the phone at his ex-wife.

  “Listen to me, James! I don’t care. Do what you want and with whom you want, but don’t call me and feign interest in me or my dates.”

  Although he was furious, he felt a painful lump form in his throat. “You can accuse me of a lot of things, Barbara, but not a lack of genuine interest in you.”

  His ex spat out her next words. “I can remember a time when you were more interested in sleeping with another woman than being there for me! If that isn’t the ultimate lack of interest in me, then I don’t know what is, James.”

  He was so close to exploding. “Once, Barbara, I slept with another woman exactly once, because I was unhappy and desperate. Have you never been unhappy and desperate?”

  “Yes, I was, but how would you know about that?” she asked brokenly. “You can’t know anything about that, because you were in Toronto at the time, screwing another woman.”

  Despondent, he stared at the bright lights on the ceiling above him. “How many times have I told you how sorry I am? How many times have I told you that I want to turn back time and undo my mistake? That I’d change the past if I could? How many times have I told you I still love you?”

  She was utterly unreceptive to his heartfelt, vulnerable words. “And how many times have I told you that you should finally leave me alone?” she hissed back angrily.

  “Barbara,” he choked out.

  “No.” Panting, she roared into the phone, “I don’t want to hear anything from you, James. Least of all when I’m standing in the middle of the clubhouse!”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “For more than two years, you’ve refused to talk about it! Don’t you think it’s time?”

  “Why?” she barked back. “We’re divorced, and there is nothing left to talk about. Live your life the way you see fit, and I’m going to do the same of mine. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m busy.”

  The annoying beep told James that she’d hung up on him.

  He felt so angry he wanted to throw a few cans of cat food against the wall.

  Chapter 6

  Barbara had intended to quickly drop by her mom’s house to collect the old clothes she’d put aside for the Bridgeport program. But when Barbara stepped into her childhood home, her mom wasn’t in. Amy was there, sitting in the living room with the babies, reading a book.

  Thus, Barbara was more or less forced to sit with her sister-in-law, thank the maid for the cup of tea she’d brought, and study her sleeping nephews, who clearly took after Patrick. The cute twins were sleeping peacefully on their stomachs, their chubby faces turned to the same side, both smacking their lips in their sleep. Barbara would have loved to pick them up and cuddle them. When Hamilton and Scott had been this small, she could never get enough of holding and snuggling them. There was nothing more adorable than tiny babies.

  “Eleanore told me you’re organizing a bazaar,” Amy said innocuously, tucking her legs beneath her as she studied Barbara with a friendly expression. She looked enviably fresh for such a delicate woman who’d had two babies only weeks ago. You would expect a new mother to be sporting rumpled clothes, stringy hair, and dark circles under her eyes, but the woman Barbara’s brother had met in Rome several years ago and married after only a few weeks looked crisp and sweet, her dark-blue eyes bright. Though Barbara wasn’t much older than Amy, she felt like an old crone next to her. Maybe that was down to the fact that Amy was beaming while Barbara was as far from that as she could be.

  “Luckily, I’m not organizing it on my own,” she said as she sipped her tea. “I’d probably go crazy if the responsibility lay only on my shoulders. It’s chaotic enough as it is.
”

  “When is it?” Amy asked, still meeting Barbara’s gaze with that open, welcoming expression on her face.

  Barbara set her cup on the small coffee table and made a dismissive gesture. “Not until next month. And our storeroom is already bursting at the seams with donated clothes.”

  “Well …” Amy twisted her lips into a thoughtful pout before suggesting hesitantly, “If you don’t have enough room to store everything, you could use the sunroom. I’m not working at the moment, so nobody’s using it.”

  It was a kind gesture, considering the sunroom was used as Amy’s studio so it would mean a lot of rearranging on her part, but Barbara wasn’t ready to accept her sister-in-law’s help. It was a matter of principle. Patrick might have forgiven his wife for leaving him without warning and keeping the fact that he had become a father from him for five years, but Barbara couldn’t forget how badly her brother had suffered when he’d returned from a business trip to discover Amy had disappeared.

  Yes, Barbara liked her sister-in-law, and could even understand that the quick wedding and subsequent move here had been too much for her, but she still held it against Amy that she’d hurt Patrick so deeply. It didn’t matter that Patrick had been running around with a moronic grin on his face ever since he’d made up with his wife.

  “That’s very kind of you,” she replied coolly, “but I think we’ll manage.”

  “Well”—Amy shyly cocked her head to one side and offered a weak smile—“if you run out of room, I can clear out of the sunroom any time.”

  Barbara nodded. “I appreciate that.”

  Her sister-in-law tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Do you need more clothes donations? Audrey’s growing so fast; I have a bunch of clothes still good as new that don’t fit her anymore. Plus, my maternity wardrobe. I’d gladly donate that if you think you’d have any use for it.”

  Barbara raised an inquisitive eyebrow and leaned back in her armchair. “Your maternity clothes? Don’t you want to keep those?”

  “Why?” Amy smiled. “Do I still look fat enough to fit those giant sacks?”